Sophia: A Celebration of the Wisdom of the Women of MTSO
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Transcript of Sophia: A Celebration of the Wisdom of the Women of MTSO
Σοφíα
Sophia:
Celebrating the Wisdom
of the Women of MTSO
Spring 2013
2
About the Front Cover:
Sophia (Σοφíα) is a female name derived from the Greek word for "Wisdom. Photo taken by: Laura White at the Association of Arulagam in Tamil Nadu, India. The Association of Arulagam (House of Grace)- Arulagam is a Tamil word which means grace. The Association of Arulagam accepts women who are sexually abused, rejected by society and their families. The women’s center creates a space where women and children can be “accepted and enabled”. In January of 2012, the cross cultural group from MTSO were honored to visit the center and meet some of the women who live and work there. While there the MTSO students learned that a perimeter wall on the property was in need of repair. The crumbling wall was causing security and privacy issues for the residents of the center. MTSO students were able to provide the necessary funds for the wall to be repaired.
About the Back Cover:
Illustrated by: Sarah Wells, friend of MTSO and employee of
Worthington Christian Village.
Acknowledgements:
Marion Correctional Institute for donating time and resources for the printing of the hard copies. Nicole Pickens- for lessons in formatting. Shirley Nyhan- for help with proofreading and editing. The Women of CL/CE 275- for various acts of assistance! Rev. Dr. Lisa Withrow, Lauren Dennis-Bucholz, Sara Hill, Mary Kerns, Jeeyong Kim, Claudine Leary, Jenni Meyers, Whitney Prose, Stepheny Ransom.
Thank You,
Laura White
3
Table of Contents:
Forward page By: Laura White 4 Women’s Manifesto By: CL/CE 275 Sp 13 5 Community By: Nancy Shute 6 A Prayer By: Lauren Dennis-Bucholz 10 A Journey of Infertility By: Jenni Meyers 11 Faith By: Linnette Wise 14 My Call as a Licensed Local Pastor By: Teresa Smolka 15 Cute Shoes By: Carol Williams-Young 18 Afro-Mexicana
By: Racquel F. Welch 19 We Are Baptised By: Emily Cannon 20 A Sacristan’s Prayer By: Deborah Caulk 21
Mizuko Kyou (水子供養) and the US Abortion Debate
By: Whitney Prose 22 The Continuous Call By: Sara Hill 24 A Collection of First Person Narrative Sermons By: Mary Loring 25 With Ease By: Betty Bennington 33 La Patita Fea By: Racquel F. Welch 34 It can be tempting to return to the comfort of our old skin By: Grace Welch 35 Clergy Spouses Unite By: Ray White 37
4
The Complexities of Pantyhose behind the Pulpit!
By: Laura White
M.Div. ’13
I am not sure when it first happened, that moment of realization that I will forever be known as
“the lady pastor”. It must have snuck up on me like a soft whisper. Or perhaps it was there from
the very beginning and I simply refused to see it. The only thing that I know for certain is that it is
there now and no matter how hard I try to ignore it, it will not be silent.
_____________________________________________________________________________
“I’ve never seen a lady pastor before” these were the words of a very kind teen boy. His words
came after I had officiated at a very long, rainy and windy graveside service. It would be the last graveside
services that I would I naively wear high heels and a long flowing skirt to officiate in. Thankfully, no one saw
the less-than-graceful fall which occurred when I stepped out of the hearse, my heel sinking in the mud
causing my body to propel forward down the steep ditch and landing headlong into a tombstone.
That was also the day in which I discovered the true beauty and strength of women in
community. One look at their disheveled pastor (now back at the church) and the ladies who had been
cooking the funeral dinner came to the rescue, cleaning up my appearance and my bruised pride. It was the
compassion of Sara (all names have been changed) which would leave the most lasting impression. Sara was
the widow of the former pastor. Her husband had been a pastor at the church for close to ten years and he
had passed away the previous winter. Sara laughed and giggled with me joking about how her husband had
never had to deal with pantyhose behind the pulpit. Her compassion and empathy that day calmed my frayed
nerves. It is the memory of this moment which has continued to calm my frustration as I navigate the realities
of being the “lady pastor”.
It was this moment that helped me to answer a male colleague when he complained about the fact
that the district clergy women met for a monthly breakfast. He wanted to know why we had to have a special
time apart if we want to have equal rights. I looked at him and said, “We need this time apart to discuss the
complexities of wearing pantyhose behind the pulpit”. My strange sense of humor was lost on my colleague
but not on his wife who smiled and winked at me.
The truth is that our monthly clergy women breakfast provides us with a community which
provides strength for the journey. It was my sisters in ministry who helped me to figure out what to do with
the pulpit microphone which is made to clip onto a tie or a collar and the other end which must be placed in
a pocket (two things that most of my “girl” clothes do not have). They also agonized and laughed with me
over the concern of my congregation that the tone of my voice was higher than my predecessor, making it
difficult for older members to hear. I still have not managed to lower the tone of my voice but somehow we
muddle on. My sisters in ministry shared similar stories when I shared my frustration after a dcom meeting in
which a colleague was concerned about the “feminization” of the church because I had used dancing as an
analogy for faith in the sermon which I had submitted.
It is in the sharing of the story within the community that we find our strength and solidarity. It is my
hope that as you read the reflections, articles, sermons and poems in the following pages that you will find the
comfort and strength that you need to amplify your own voice in the world.
5
We, the women, declare that God created all humans with intrinsic worth. God calls us to rise and fully live as God – our Creator, Sustainer, and Redeemer – intends.
We craft this manifesto recognizing it is incomplete and must be updated by those who
follow us. We recognize that no written document can represent the living reality of a
person.
o We recognize that gender is defined differently in all times, places, contexts, among
individuals, and even in an individual’s daily life. We stand in solidarity with the
female sex throughout these transitions. Naturally and socially constructed gender
differences are a reality and should be used to complement one another rather than
promote harm.
We are beautiful, but we are not for display, for sale, or as sex objects.
We are hard workers, but we are not slaves.
We are individually strong and gain further strength within community.
We are intelligent and deserve to be involved in decision making from the beginning in all
projects involving humanity.
We are complex beings and are not limited to specific traits that society views as feminine.
God calls humanity to practice a variety of shared traits that transcend gender.
We are long suffering, and we refuse to accept the exploitation, exclusion and abuse.
We know that the world can change and heal the old ways of patriarchal, hierarchal, and
unjust systems that promotes the mentioned injustices.
We demand that all of humanity be included in all aspects of life, especially in public and
private sectors of leadership.
We demand an “effeminate” leadership style to be valued and recognized. This style includes
horizontal, collaborative power structures, a commitment to relationships, and an ability to
lead from within rather than from the “top” or “front.”
We commit to being equal partners with men and masculine genders, to promote peace and
dignity of all people, to being good stewards of all God creates, to encourage development
of the mental, emotional, spiritual and physical strength of all people, and to nurture the next
generation to do the same.
By: Rev. Dr. Lisa Withrow, Lauren Dennis-Bucholz, Sara Hill, Mary Kerns, Jeeyong Kim, Claudine Leary, Jenni Meyers, Whitney
Prose, Stepheny Ransom, Laura White
Women’s Manifesto
6
“Even though I never expressed the
thought, I secretly doubted my ability
to continue on as a pastor let alone be
of any comfort to this family.”
As one who holds a specialization in
Feminist and Womanist studies, the lens
through which I view and practice ministry is
one of community. My experience of God’s
presence and action has been one of the
Spirit moving within a group of people for
the purpose of relationship, healing, and
wholeness. Quite simply, I experience God
working in and through people; and not
always people of faith, well…of formal faith.
But God does use the willing. That much I
know. In my twelve years of pastoral
ministry I have definitely seen the worst of
people, church people: hate, abuse, division.
Nasty stuff. But, I have also experienced the
very best in people. People who even in the
midst of their own suffering, care about the
healing and wholeness of others, even the
pastor. This story is of one such experience.
It was August of 2005, just two months
after the death of my son and his fiancé, that I
received a call from one of my parishioners.
Joe (all names have been changed) was calling
to tell me
that his
older
brother Dan had just died. I had had the
privilege of baptizing Joe and his infant
daughter a few years earlier. It was one of
those wonderful moments of community in
the church. Joe embracing the baby, the
community of faith embracing them both, and
God’s grace embracing everyone. It was a
palpable moment of God’s presence. And
now Joe was asking if I would officiate at his
brother’s funeral since the family had no faith
community.
This was a very close family with strong
Appalachian roots. The matriarch of the
family had grown up in the hills of Western
Pennsylvania on a remote farm. She had
married young and started her family. Dan,
Community
By: Nancy Shute
M.Div ‘12
7
“I listened, I cried along side, I
nodded and held her hand as she
shared her grief as well as her joy
in the life of her oldest son.”
her oldest, was found to have muscular
dystrophy, which not only confined him to a
wheelchair but eventually ended his life. He
was only thirty-one years old.
As I met with the family to plan the
funeral Dan and Joe’s mother expressed her
condolences for the loss of my son. My son
and his fiancé were killed in an ATV accident
that left our family devastated and left me at
odds with God. Even though I never
expressed the thought, I secretly doubted my
ability to continue on as a pastor let alone be
of any comfort to this family. I was torn
between my own grief and the thought of
leaving this woman alone in hers. And so I
did the only thing I was capable of doing, I
practiced the ministry of presence. I listened,
I cried along side, I nodded and held her hand
as she shared her grief as well as her joy in the
life of her oldest son.
On the day of the funeral I arrived to find
the funeral home packed with family and
friends. In true Appalachian community there
must have been over 200 mourners. The
funeral director had opened all partitions and
filled the rooms with chairs. It was standing
room only, and even that was scarce.
I began my approach to the lectern and
surveyed the room. To my left was Dan. He
rested in a rented particleboard coffin
surrounded with the mementos of his
presence in the lives of hundreds of friends
and family. There were stuffed animals, single
flowers picked from the surrounding
countryside, bottles of his favorite pop, and
photos. It was the largest display of love and
connection I have seen in twelve years of
ministry. I remember wondering how in my
broken state I would ever be able to offer
anything to this group of people who gave so
much of
themselves.
As I took the
last step up to the
lectern to begin the service there was a small
rustle in the crowd directly in front of me and
8
“It would be years of healing and
a seminary education later before
I would recognize even the
smallest bit of God’s healing
action that occurred within that
community at that place and
time.”
behind the
family. The
crowd
parted to
make a path and directly in front of me
taking up intentional visual positions were Joe
and my husband. They looked at me and
smiled then put their hands together to signify
they were praying for me. And then everyone
in the room looked at me and nodded. As the
Spirit moved about the room the community
of that day drew together in faith, hope, and
celebration of Dan’s life and God’s grace.
I had the privilege of being graveside a
month later when Dan’s ashes were gently
placed in his grandmother’s grave. In a small
cemetery of the remote hills near the family
homestead I offered words of hope and peace
as the family took turns replacing the earth of
the grave. It was this community’s last
physical act in their direct care for Dan. As I
drove away that day I felt changed. It would
be years of healing and a seminary education
later before I would recognize even the
smallest bit of God’s healing action that
occurred within that community at that place
and time. We came together in shared grief
and hope and together we shared the gift of
God’s presence.
Did You Know that MTSO
has a women’s
network?
Check us out on
facebook!
9
Heavenly Mother, you knew my name and my heart before I was born.
You carefully crafted me in your image and blessed me in my Earthly
Mother's womb. My first cries, although strained, called out your holy name...
and for that I am thankful.
Heavenly Grandmother, you fill my soul with spiritual nourishment, warm
and delicious like apple pie. You sooth my pain with hugs and kisses, and you
hold me in your secure arms. You teach me to appreciate the land around me
and find healing in it – from the song of the birds to the rippling waters
between my fingers… and for that I am thankful.
Heavenly Teacher, you answer my questions and ask me more, leaving me
wiser but still more confused. You encourage me to find my voice and share it
with others. Your wisdom goes beyond anything that I could ever image… and
for that I am thankful.
Heavenly Spirit, I never feel alone because you reveal yourself to me in the most
ordinary of places. A simple smile from a stranger or a song on the radio has
pieces of you within them. Each part of your creation is sacred and beautiful…
and for that I am thankful. Amen.
Photograph by Megan Gehrlich (Mickey G Photography)
A Prayer
By: Lauren Dennis-
Bucholz
10
“I may appear fine on the
surface but underneath I
am struggling with deep
hurt.”
“I am angry with God.
I feel like a broken
woman. I am
depressed and anxious.
I am a pin cushion, my
relationships are
struggling, and we are
broke.”
A Journey of Infertility By: Jenni Meyers
Master of Theological Studies and MA Counseling Ministries Student
As women we are physically designed
to give birth. However, for some women that
desperately desire children, the ability does
not come so “naturally”. Infertility is defined
as the inability to become or
stay pregnant after a year of
trying to conceived for
those under 35 or six
months for those 35 and
older. Approximately 1 out
of 8 women suffers from
infertility. I am one of those
women. Infertility is a
physical disease but has very real mental,
emotional, and spiritual components. I
recently asked some friends what they would
want to know if they could ask a woman with
infertility anything. The following is my
attempt to answer those questions with what I
want you to know.
I want you to know that infertility has
turned my world upside down. It threatens
the future story of my family. It affects every
single piece of my life. I may appear fine on
the surface but underneath I am struggling
with deep hurt. I am angry with God. I feel
like a broken woman. I am depressed and
anxious. I am a pin cushion, my relationships
are struggling, and we are broke. But I get
dressed and put on a show to get through the
day because infertility is so misunderstood
and today I do not feel like explaining. I don’t
want you to judge me when I say that my
husband and I decided to use medical
treatments and supplements. I certainly don’t
want you to tell me to adopt. Trust me I have
considered every possible path on the
infertility road. I do not want you to pity me.
Tomorrow I will spend the day crying and
angry but then I will feel the need to share my
own story for the healing of myself and
others. So I start a blog and hold on to the
little hope I have left believing I can make a
difference even in my pain.
I want you to know that I am still not
pregnant and we are starting a new cycle of
treatment. In the next two weeks, I will have
three or more ultrasounds and just as many
blood draws. I will give myself at least a dozen
injections, take several supplements, and hope
it all works this time. I will spend a couple
hours on the phone with my reproductive
endocrinologist’s office. I will sit in the
OBGYN’s office with pregnant and
menopausal women. We all are dealing with
hormones; at least we have that in common. I
will drive hundreds of miles to see a naturalist
and a chiropractor. I think about seeing an
acupuncturist but there is no way to afford
that with the thousands of dollars we already
spent on treatment this month. I will contact
a different reproductive endocrinologist that
is an additional forty miles away in hopes that
he will treat me like a
person and not a uterus.
This month I will see
11
half a dozen or more healthcare professionals,
each providing more questions than answers.
I want you to know that my husband
is my biggest supporter and all of this is
affecting him as well. I wonder whom he
could talk to who could possibly understand. I
want you to know that I searched for
emotional support very early on, but there are
no support groups close and I cannot afford a
therapist if I want to continue physical
treatment. So, I settle for internet support
forums and blog writing. If anything, getting
my story out helps me process what is
happening. I know I should lean on God.
Some days I pray constantly, but others I am
angry at God and remain silent. The mental
aspect of this disease is the hardest. There are
hopes followed by disappointments and there
are too many unknowns. I cannot explain
how I feel most days and it leads to
depression and anxiety. I wonder if I will ever
recover for this.
I want you to know that I am not mad
at you if you became pregnant. I am angry at
my situation and if it came easy or naturally
for you I am jealous. If we are close I really
need to hear your news from you personally.
Please do not hide it from me; it will only hurt
more. Try to be understanding when I do not
have much to say and if I become distant. I
am trying to deal with my own issues without
hurting you too but it is really difficult. I want
you to know that I am happy for you. If you
were able to conceive on your own, I am also
glad that you do not have to suffer in this
barren land. If you too have been struggling
with infertility, your story gives me hope. Do
not complain about pregnancy. I am aware
that it is very difficult for many, but I would
be on bed rest for the whole 40 weeks if it
meant I could have my own child. And some
of those symptoms I know too well as I pump
myself with artificial hormones each month.
If you have a baby shower it is okay to invite
me, but please understand if I do not attend. I
will be sure to send a gift. When your little
one arrives, I may come to introduce myself
to him/her/them but do not take it personally
when I am quiet and reserved. I am struggling
with many mixed emotions and whether this
will ever be possible for me. We are both
going to have to discover what your new
status as mom means for our relationship. If
this is not your first child it may be harder for
me to be around the baby than your other
child(ren), so please be patient with me.
I want you
to know that we had success! We are pregnant
with our miracle, but I am nervous, worried,
and scared. I am still taking hormones to help
the pregnancy and I am considered high risk. I
will try so hard not to complain about
anything; however, I have wanted this too
much. I will not even let myself enjoy this
pregnancy at all until after that first trimester.
I do not know how I would deal with a
miscarriage because there are so many more
“what ifs” after infertility. The pregnancy is
rough but I have excellent care and it seems
we are going to have a healthy baby. Infertility
still plagues my mind and I feel the distance
12
grow from my other friends with infertility. I
want you to know that I cherish this
pregnancy with everything I have, but there is
still little support for those pregnant after
infertility.
I want you to know that it was a
difficult road but I am a mom. My son is one
of the greatest blessings of my life. I am
beyond thankful to experience pregnancy,
birth, and parenthood. I reached my goal but
I am not cured. As I put my baby to bed
tonight I will wonder if he will be my only
baby. I worry about how difficult it maybe to
give him siblings. How long will it take? What
will it take? Can I do it all again? Can we do it
all again? Is it fair to my husband, my son, and
my friends?
I want you to know that infertility still
has a strong hold on me and haunts me daily.
Infertility is debilitating and lifelong. The
wounds it created may heal but there will
always be scars. What I need from you is
patience and a listening ear. Most of all I need
you to know that I am not alone. There are
7.3 million other women in the US alone
fighting this disease. Each of us has a
different story and many suffer in silence. I
want you to know that the disease is not
respected by some. I want you to know
insurance companies rarely offer coverage and
treatments are expensive (as is adoption). I
want you to know that legislative issues often
threaten treatment options. I want you to
know that there are not enough counselors,
pastors, families, or friends that know about
infertility. I want you to know that infertility
hurts, destroys, and does not discriminate. I
want you to know this because the one in
eight women struggling with infertility is
someone you know.
For more information about infertility visit
resolve.org.
13
Photograph by Megan Gehrlich (Mickey G Photography)
L.O.V.E
Love is for Everyone!
Check us out on facebook .
Faith
By: Linette Wise
MA in Counseling Student
Lord I need for you to give me faith
I need the faith to share your faith
I don't need the faith to move mountains,
just the faith to move me
I don't need the faith to part the sea,
just the faith to part sin from me
I don't need the faith to conquer nations,
just the faith to conquer fear
I don't need the faith to do miracles,
just the faith to keep you near
Just the faith to spread Your Word
Just the faith to share what I heard
Amen
14
“You did a wonderful
job…but women don’t
belong behind the
pulpit.”
God has always been present in my
life. As a child I attended church and
responded to an altar call at the age of 13,
asking Jesus to be my friend. At 13 I wasn’t
sure what it meant to have a personal
relationship with Him but I knew that I
needed Him as a friend and a confidant.
Time passed and at the age of 19 I
was asked to deliver the student day message
at church. After the service, my mom came up
to me and said, “You did a wonderful
job…but women don’t belong behind the
pulpit.” So I returned to college ignoring the
call that I thought I was hearing from God. I
completed my degree in Art Education. I
taught at both the high school and college
level but was never completely happy. So I
left education and went on to pursue a career
in photography while trying to serve in some
capacity in the church setting.
More time passed and I went from
being a wedding photographer to a
construction photographer. That led to my
next adventure of becoming the first
Architectural Hardware Consultant in
Youngstown. That career move caused me to
drift away from the church and from my
friend Jesus. It was during this time that I met
and married my husband. A year later we
welcomed our beautiful daughter into our
lives. After looking in her eyes, I took out pen
and paper and wrote down these words in her
baby book:
In the eyes of my child
I saw my friend Jesus,
I met my redeemer,
And reached for his hand
Though life did not go
Where I thought it would go
I now know it was part of his marvelous plan.
Meeting my daughter for the first time
made me want to be a better person. Yet, I
still was not ready to listen to the call that was
always in the back of my mind. I felt it would
be disrespectful to my mother. So I tried to
manipulate the call into
something more manageable,
something she would approve
of so I went back to teaching.
Then over the course of 18
years, I became the leader or
president in numerous organizations. I
volunteered in Girl Scouts, the PTA, the
Band, VBS, Great Books, I directed the
Children’s choir grades k-3 then 3through 8. I
became the youth group director for children
grades 6-12. Then in 2004 my mother was
diagnosed with non hodgkins lymphoma. I
quit my job as a teacher and took care of my
mom until her passing on January 21, 2006. It
was my youth group that gave me exactly
what I needed; they loved me and would not
allow me to remain in my grief. God had sent
a group of energetic teenagers to keep me
afloat. In 2007, God’s call seemed to be
getting louder. Again, I tried to manipulate it
so I went to my first lay speaking training. My
logic was: “That should quiet Him down!”
In the fall of 2009, while I was still
director of youth ministries and teaching as a
full time substitute for a teacher, God woke
My Call as a Licensed Local Pastor
By: Teresa Smolka
Course of Study Student
15
“OK, I’ll do it but
YOU have to tell
my mother!”
me up in the middle of the night. I sat straight
up in bed and said “Seriously…YOU want
ME to become a minister???” I thought it
must have been a bad dream and tried to
ignore it again. But every night I was
awakened with the same thought and kept
asking the same question. Finally, on the third
night I said: “OK, I’ll do it but YOU have to
tell my mother!” I went to my senior pastor of
the church to talk to him, I confessed that
“what I needed was a big neon sign telling
what to do” about 5 minutes later the
secretary came to deliver my mail. In it was a
letter announcing the next lay speaker
training. I opened it up to find a green neon
flyer that said: “Go Preach. Lay speaker
training for those exploring ministry.”
Needless to say, I took the training.
I was still uncertain of my calling so I
prayed that God would clear my path, get rid
of every excuse I could possibly have if He
wanted me to go into ministry. The next day,
I went into my class room and to my surprise
the teacher I was substituting for came into
the class before the children arrived. She
looked at me and said: “Could I please have
my job back, I’m not cut out to be a stay at
home mom!” I took that as a sign that the
path was clear. But then I still was not
convinced. So I asked again for my path to be
free from distractions. I met with my pastor
and went through the material. Then I met
with the staff parish committee, then the
District Superintendent, the District
Committee on Ordained Ministry, and was
assigned a mentor. I jumped through all the
necessary hoops and before you knew it …it
was the month of May. I did not have an
appointment but the District Superintendent
still allowed me to go to licensing school. I
completed licensing school but had no
appointment and our District Superintendent
was leaving the district so I felt all hope was
gone for me to ever really get appointed. But
then in July, I was called to meet the new
District Superintendent. It was his first time
being a DS and I was his first appointment. I
was given a two point charge in a rural setting
about 25 miles from my home. It was part
time and I loved it. That first year, I continued
to serve as director of youth ministries while I
served the two churches. In 2010, I began
taking classes for the Course of Study at
MTSO. Today, I am more than half way
through the classes.
Even though I first heard God’s call
on my life at 13 and realized He wanted me to
serve Him at age 19, I didn’t respond to that
call until age 50. I often wonder if I
responded to the call when I was younger,
would I have chosen to go to
seminary? Probably. But when
you have a child in college and a
husband who was raised
Catholic…you take everything
into consideration. For me, becoming a local
licensed pastor allowed me to answer God’s
call while still remaining faithful to the
promise I made to my husband on our
wedding day. I thank God for being patient
with me. I also thank Him for the wonderful
life experiences I have had that I use in my
ministry. Having waited this long to answer
the call has placed a certain urgency on my life
that I may have taken for granted if I had
answered the call when I was younger. I love
serving a church…can you believe it…they
actually pay me to talk about Jesus!
16
Cute Shoes
By: Carol Williams-Young, M.Div ‘13
I think we can probably all agree that people generally
pay more attention to what women wear than what men
wear, even in the pulpit. I wear a robe in worship
services, partly to try to reduce attention to what I’m
wearing. A robe may help, but it’s not foolproof. I’m
told how pretty my robe is (although it is plain white).
One parishioner routinely tells me I look “just like an
angel” (a comment I’m pretty sure my male colleagues
have never heard when serving in their white robes).
Someone told me my black robe was not as becoming
as my white one. My favorite comment, though, is this:
one Sunday morning, a woman asked why I wasn’t
wearing my robe. After I explained that I was not
leading in worship that day, she observed, “Oh, that’s
why you’re wearing cuter shoes.”
On Saturday April 28th, 2012: Abigail Salak, Kim Wisecup and Brian West hosted a "Do-Love-Walk" social justice event at Methodist Theological School in Ohio to help both laity and clergy examine and name their own passions, interests, social concerns, experiences, and much more, as well as to explore ways in which any of these or other elements may be offered in and through social justice efforts. Claudine Leary highlighted the needs of the
refugees around the world. During the
months which followed the Do. Love.
Walk., Claudine has learned about
Community Refugee and Immigration
Services; a non profit organization.
Community Refugee and Immigration
Services is an affiliate of Church World
Services and Episcopal Migration
Ministries. Claudine has been serving the
refugee community since September 2013.
To find the videos which were used by
the CL/CE 275 class during Women’s
History month go to:
Affirming images
http://animoto.com/play/0M7VUm267kXXzRPU4sK1XQ
and
Non-Affirming images (warning content is offensive)
http://animoto.com/play/DQbe5Koz20A7sToVg412pA
Photo taken by: Kim Wisecup during the MTSO
Do. Love. Walk.
17
Afro-Mexicana
By: Racquel F. Welch
Friend of MTSO, Daughter of Grace Welch
Arizona State University, Tempe Arizona
I am torn,
Torn between the very people who should accept me.
The ones who should look at me, and see a piece of themselves.
But yet…
I. Am. Invisible.
Even worse I’m non-existent.
My nappy hair or my brown skin only gets me so far,
To YOU,
I am NOT up to par.
My Spanish lacks the perfection that it needs,
And my skin lacks the color, of my African American mother.
I have learned to accept, that acceptation is over-rated.
I can NOT and will NOT try to please YOU, by splitting myself in to TWO.
I have the best of both worlds even if you can’t see me as whole,
My Black and My Brown,
Are embodied in my soul.
There is no separation or the choice of just picking one,
I can not be divided nor subtracted by one.
My skin speaks the languages of my cultures intertwined.
As my ancestors shine through me,
I’ll speak these words one last time.
You look at me as one,
Or don’t look at me at all.
I am of both worlds,
That in ME will never dissolve.
18
“We Are Baptized”
(sung to the tune of “Christ the Lord is Risen Today”)
By: Emily Cannon
M.Div ‘13
We are baptized, we are claimed, Alleluia!
Called by God, and called by name, Alleluia!
Poured or sprinkled or immersed, Alleluia!
Loved by One who loved us first, Alleluia!
Washed and cleansed, we are transformed, Alleluia!
Made to weather all life’s storms, Alleluia!
Born again from God’s own womb, Alleluia!
Now we need not fear the tomb, Alleluia!
Children of the covenant, Alleluia!
Follow Him whom God has sent, Alleluia!
We, the baptized family, Alleluia!
Live in blessed community, Alleluia!
We are baptized, we are claimed! Alleluia!
We shall never be the same! Alleluia!
God who calls us—now, always, Alleluia!
We respond with thanks and praise! Alleluia!
19
You are here with me, Holy God,
in this dark and quiet space,
as I now bring the Centrum back to life.
You go with me as I tidy chairs, hymnals, linens,
seeing your created radiance glimmer from the east,
waiting to welcome worshippers.
May the spark that lights these candles
remind all who enter that you are here,
warming, guiding, encircling.
May the beauty of this bread, lying still upon the paten,
reveal your love to all who come and see
as the bread is lifted high and broken.
May the sweetness of this juice, poured into the chalice,
be for all a freely flowing means of grace
as they taste and see that you are good.
You are here with us, Holy God,
Through music, prayer, scripture, sermon, silence.
May the worship in this room bring us back to life.
A Sacristan’s Prayer
By Deborah Lee Caulk
M.Div Student
20
Jizou Bodhisattva at Mibu-Dera
Temple (Ritsu / Risshou), Kyoto
Japan.
Mizuko Kyou (水子供養) and the US Abortion Debate A longer version of this paper was presented at the 2013 American Academy of Religion Midwest Regional
Conference at Ohio Northern University, Ada, Ohio By Whitney L. Prose.
Master of Divinity and Master of Theological Studies Student Mizoku kyou, a “water baby ceremony,” is a new term and concept being used in the pro-life /
pro-choice stalemate in the United States. This ceremony from Japan ritually memorializes pregnancy
losses; most commonly these are aborted fetuses today. Pro-life advocates argue that mizuko kyou
shows the universally damaging nature of abortion, and abortion is contrary to human nature. Pro-
choice advocates argue that mizuko kyou shows how to handle the emotions of abortion within
religious contexts, while still recognizing that sometimes abortions must occur. Some scholars (and
advocates) argue that mizuko kyou is what keeps Japan from being polarized on the topic of abortion.
Some argue that if America should adopt mizuko kyou, or ceremonies derived from it, the US abortion
debate will begin to find common ground and be less volatile.
Mizuko kyou is made up of two Japanese terms. The first, mizuko means “Water-child,” (Wilson
7). Mizuko is a name given to fetuses in general, but more often it refers to a
dead fetus, still-born child, or other miscarriage (7). The name comes from the
idea that pre-existence is water, and out of this comes form. The second word
in mizuko kyou means “to offer,” as in offering prayers or apologies (7). Kyou
rites are the most common Buddhist practice in Japanese life and honor
everything (or everyone) from ancestors to broken household objects (7).
Thus, mizuko kyou is a rite to offer prayers and apologies to fetuses.
The ceremony itself is generally a shortened funeral service
where a Buddhist priest chants sutras, requests that the mizuko becomes a
Buddha, and has those requesting the service offer food, incense, and toys (7).
At some services, there is a memorial tablet made with the name Mizuko on it
(7). This is naming the lost fetus, much as one would name a child David or
Anne. At other ceremonies, a small statue of the bodhisattva Jizou is purchased. If Jizou is used in the
“Both pro-life and pro-choice advocates view mizuko kyou
as a means of pastoral care””
21
service, the bodhisattva’s statue is often dressed in a red bib made by the mizuko’s parents (7). At
mizuko parks, the statue or statues of Jizou are washed, given offerings, and dressed like little children.
Many non-Buddhists seek out Buddhist temples to have mizuko kyou and to receive pastoral care
because “these non-Buddhists often feel they cannot receive [such] in their primarily religious
traditions” (138).
Pro-life advocates claim that mizuko kyou shows the damage abortion does. The Japanese
recognize the value of life and know they have to make amends. Mizuko kyou ceremonies are even
being adopted by the Catholic Church – with Saint Joseph rather than bodhisattva Jizou. To pro-life
advocates, mizuko kyou proves there is a real mental (and spiritual) trauma from any abortion, which
means these murders must stop.
To pro-choice advocates, mizuko kyou shows how to handle the emotions of abortion while
recognizing that sometimes abortions must happen. They argue that mizuko kyou allows one to
recognize this moment in life and heal from it. The idea that mizuko are partially formed from water and
simply move back into water, to be reborn in Heaven, or at another date on Earth (perhaps to the same
family), is a comfort and therapeutic.
Both pro-life and pro-choice advocates view mizuko kyou as a means of pastoral care. Post-
pregnancy loss manuals written by pro-choice advocates encourage women to make their own
“cleansing” post-abortion rituals, and then give mizuko kyou as an example (138). Ironically, some of
these pro-choice books offer the pro-life Catholic sacrament of Reconciliation as another good model
(138).
The Oblates of St. Joseph describe their Reconciliation steps after explaining the many negative
effects of post-abortion syndrome: “Steps include having the mother tell her story with all its pain,
grieve her loss, acknowledge the uniqueness of her child and give it a name, ask forgiveness of her child,
ritualize her loss, accept God's forgiveness, and forgive herself” (Toschi). These are very similar to
mizuko kyou. St. Joseph’s even has the name of the child memorialized on a stone placed in a garden
around a large statue of Saint Joseph holding an infant. It is easy to imagine St. Joseph as the
bodhisattva Jizou, and the stones as the memorial plaques used in mizuko kyou. Although St. Joseph’s
“Mizuko kyou will not solve the US abortion debate,
but it may solve a gap in Judeo-Christian pastoral
care.”
22
St. Joseph, Patron of the Unborn
at the California Oblates of St.
Joseph (Roman Catholic);
does not mention mizuko kyou, the similarities between their ceremony and mizuko kyou suggests they
are conducting a Christianized version of the service.
Since mizuko kyou is known by both sides of the abortion debate in the US, and used by both,
could it be a means of mending this split nation? Some scholars (and advocates) think that mizuko kyou
is what keeps Japan from being polarized on the topic of abortion.
Should America adopt this ceremony, we could stop arguing about
abortion. However, scholars and researchers are now finding that
mizuko kyou is just another tool used in the abortion debate and is not
solving the problem at all. Although mizuko kyou no longer looks like a
way to solve the abortion debate, it does hold promise as a method of
pastoral care – whether that be in its native Buddhist setting or
modified to fit in another religious context. As it is, there is a dearth of
pastoral care materials for those who have lost pregnancies, especially
in the case of abortions (Neuger 125; Wilson 172). Many pastors are
often uncomfortable and ill equipped to help those who are considering
abortions, or have had abortions. Additionally, there is a stigmata in the
US that labels women who’ve considered abortions as “criminals”
(Bohler 45). Without religious rituals, and with a negative stigmata, many women choose not to seek
pastoral care and face their lost pregnancies alone (Neuger 125; Wilson 168). These women are isolated
in their time of spiritual need without a religious support system. This isolation increases depression
symptoms and feelings of worth. Mizuko kyou, or a derivative, is a way pastors could reach out to those
who are hurting and reconnect them back into a religious support system. If these rituals are known,
and those participating in them are not ostracized, those who have lost pregnancies could also feel
comfortable approaching pastors for care. Mizuko kyou will not solve the US abortion debate, but it may
solve a gap in Judeo-Christian pastoral care.
23
Works Cited
Bohler, Carolyn Stahl. “Female-Friendly Pastoral Care.” In Jeanne Stevenson Moessner (Ed.), Through the
eyes of women: Insights for pastoral care (pp. 27-49). Minneapolis, Fortress: 1996. Print.
Keown, Damien ed. Buddhism and Abortion. U. of Hawai’i, Honolulu: 1999. Print.
LaFleur, William. Liquid Life: Abortion and Buddhism in Japan. Princeton University, New Jersey: 1992.
Print.
Neuger, Christie Cozad. “The Challenge of Abortion.” In Pamela D. Couture and Rodney J. Hunter (Eds.),
Pastoral care and social conflict (pp. 125-140). Nashville, Abingdon: 1995. Print.
Toschi, Larry M. “St. Joseph: Patron of the Unborn.” Oblates of St. Joseph, Oblates of St. Joseph, Santa
Cruz CA: 2007. Web. 15 May 2012.
Wilson, Jeff. Mourning the Unborn Dead: A Buddhist Ritual Comes to America. Oxford, New York: 2009.
Print.
An excerpt
Continuous Call
By: Sara Hill
Master of Theological Studies Student
“I have the wonderful opportunity to partner with the Lord in ministry. God calls, but it is up
to me to respond. As I choose to respond to the call, it is my prayer that God goes before me in
all things and in all areas of my life. My strength and authority for ministry and leadership come
from God and God alone, without the Lord I am nothing. I look forward to the journey!”
24
A Collection of First-Person Narrative Sermons: from the Female Perspective By: Mary Loring Master of Divinity Student Sarah’s Laughter
Sarah enters and looks back through the curtain as she listens to the man’s words.
“I’m coming back about this time next year. When I arrive, your wife Sarah will have a son.”
(Sarah turns to congregation and laughs a very low belly laugh of unbelief.)
Did you hear what that man just said? He said that this 90-year-old woman and that 100-year-old man
are going to have a child. Isn’t that the most hilarious thing you’ve ever heard. (Big belly laugh) This man
must be playing a practical joke on a poor old woman.
Oh, how I’ve dreamed of having a child. How many years Abraham
and I have tried to conceive? How could Abraham be the father of a great
nation if his wife was barren? Our many dreams help to sooth the wounds
from the nasty stares and the not so quietly spoken gossip of the women of
the village. “It’s shameful to not be able to bear your husband a son.”
And now…now am I to believe that this old body, this old soul is
going to bear a son? I’ve seen what the young mothers go through during
childbirth...not to mention the throwing up at the smell of something so
common as figs, I love figs, and the large belly, the very large belly. Did I
forget to mention…. I’m 90 years old! What took God so long to fulfill this
promise to us?
But then I heard what we were to name our new son. What irony it is
that his name shall be Isaac. This child of my old age will be known as the son
of my laughter. Isaac will be my laughter. (Reflective laugh)
So whatever may come, I will accept this joy of a child even in my later years. I will relish each
easy and hard time ahead. I will choose to live in full joy because God will fulfill his promise to Abraham
and myself and give us a son, my Isaac, my laughter. God has blessed me with laughter and all who get
the news will laugh with me! (Sarah laughs a low belly laugh as she walks off stage.
Wonder of Wonders: A Shepherdess’ Story
Luke 2:8-20
25
I shouldn’t be out here in the barren dessert with the sheep tonight. I should be at home, in our
cave, warm and sleeping. But once again my husband has been too kind to the boys who work for him
and he has given them the night off instead. He told me that they had been working hard and they
deserved a break. I told him I had been working hard as well and deserved a break. Constantly we are
working our sheep in order to make ends meet. My husband and my sons spend hours with the sheep
outside, while my daughters and I slave away in our tiny cave home churning sheep milk into butter and
cheese, spinning wool until my fingers ache, and then going out and bartering in the market for the best
price. I knew what life would be like in a sheepherder’s family. I knew that no matter how hard we
worked we would still be seen as uneducated and unclean by the townsfolk. We are a vital part of this
town supplying the pure sacrificial lambs, but no one wants to look at us or associate with us because
we work with dirty sheep.
My husband told me this would be an opportunity to spend time together, just our family. Yes,
this would be a luxury being outside for the night plus we rarely get two minutes together as a family
with all the work that has to be done. But now the girls and I are cold and my husband and our sons are
after one of the wandering sheep. So much for family time together, the old fool?
Make the best of this you complaining old woman is what he’d tell me. He is right too. How often
do I get to see a sky like this, the stars seem to be right on top of us. And look at that star over in the
East. It’s so large. The night is so clear and that is why it is so cold. Ah, there they come with that good
for nothing wandering lamb.
But who is that beside my husband. I have not seen this one before and it’s as if this stranger is
aglow. He is saying, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.
Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is
Christ the Lord” (vv. 10-11)
I know the townsfolk think of us sheepherding families as
an ignorant lot, but I know what this stranger is saying. He is
saying that the Messiah, the one that Isaiah the prophet
foretold has been born tonight, right here in our hometown of
Bethlehem. But why would we be told such great news?
Shouldn’t this messenger be telling the religious authorities?
Wait, now he is telling us where to find the baby. “This will be a
sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a
manger.” (v.12)
A baby lying in an animal feed trough. But if this is the Messiah, our King, why is he not lying in a
grand palace? Why such a humble place? Why tell such a lowly people as shepherds such news?
Oh my goodness, there are so many others with this one now. They are singing. What are they
saying, “Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to all on who his favor rests.” (v. 13b)
26
But his favor has rested upon us lowly shepherds? God is telling us about the birth of our Savior.
Oh my, the messengers, they must have been angels, are gone. I look into my husband’s eyes and he
does not hesitate but says to us, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the
Lord has told us about.” (v. 15b)
We didn’t hesitate and left the sheep grazing as our family descended into the town of Bethlehem.
My husband recalled hearing that Jacob’s son Joseph had traveled to Bethlehem from Nazareth for the
census with his very pregnant wife. We would begin our search for the child in a manger at the house of
Jacob. Instead of knocking on the front door, my husband went directly to the stable. I wasn’t sure this
was the proper way, but I too could not wait to find the child the angels had told us about.
And yet, I wasn’t prepared for the beautiful scene before us. There as the angels had told us was
the baby boy wrapped in clothes and lying in a manger. The peace that flowed from that manger was
undeniable. The mother, Mary, was glowing with love for her new born son as each of us knelt by the
manger gazing upon our Messiah, our Savior, our new born king. Joseph was standing by Mary’s side
and he was in awe of the babe as much as we were. Even the very animals within the stable seemed to
bow down and worship the Christ-child.
As we left the stable, my husband sent me to tell everyone we knew of the wonder of wonders we
had seen that night. Of the stars and the angels, the child in a manger and his family so holy. We both
went our separate ways, my husband back to tend the sheep and I to our family and friends in the city
telling all the grand news. We were glorifying and praising God for allowing us to be the first to witness
God with us, Emmanuel, in this babe in a manger. But why did God send the angels to us? Surely this
wonder of wonders is to marvelous for a lowly shepherd family to convey. And yet who better to tell of
a babe in a manger than lowly shepherds like us.
Oh wonders of wonders how will this child in a manger be a Savior, not just for lowly shepherds but
for all people as the angels said? I wonder as I wander….
I wonder as I wander out under the sky
How Jesus the Saviour did come for to die
For poor on'ry people like you and like I;
I wonder as I wander out under the sky
When Mary birthed Jesus 'twas in a cow's stall
With wise men and farmers and shepherds and all
But high from God's heaven, a star's light did fall
And the promise of ages it then did recall.
If Jesus had wanted for any wee thing
A star in the sky or a bird on the wing
Or all of God's Angels in heaven to sing
He surely could have it, 'cause he was the King
27
I wonder as I wander out under the sky
How Jesus the Saviour did come for to die
For poor on'ry people like you and like I;
I wonder as I wander out under the sky
Ponderings
Luke 2: 1-20
After the incredible visit by the angel, Gabriel, then spending three wonderful months with my
relatives, Zechariah and Elizabeth returning home to Nazareth with Joseph seemed as if it were a
dream.
Joseph married me, but when I began to show my pregnancy and the townspeople began to
count the months...well the rumors began to fly. I could not walk to the town well to draw water
without someone making a comment or staring. And Joseph's carpentry business which had been doing
well prior to our marriage began to lose customers. It was our community's way of telling us that we
weren't acceptable anymore.
Even so, the months until Jesus birth seemed to pass by quickly. My parents though happy about
our marriage and overwhelmed with the news of the holy pregnancy were concerned for us. They would
often bring by extra food and Mama would make such wonderful bread for me to eat. My parents and
Joseph were constantly insisting I eat to keep my strength up.
Then the decree came. Joseph must go to Bethlehem to be counted with the line of David. From
the moment of the decree my parents and I argued. They said it was too close to my time of delivery
and that I should stay in Nazareth. My father accused Joseph of endangering mine and the child’s lives
with this foolishness. My mother was especially afraid. She knew that if we traveled I would be
28
delivering the baby alone. But I knew that I must stay with Joseph and that God would provide a way.
Finally, after discussing the issue for what seemed like the hundredth time, Joseph though dreading this
moment finally spoke up. He explained to my parents that prophecy was being fulfilled. That Micah had
predicted that the Messiah was to be born in Bethlehem. He too told them that God would provide a
way.
My parents somehow began to understand. My mother took me through all that would need to
be done at the delivery, making sure Joseph was within ear shot. My father helped Joseph to purchase a
place with one of the Mesopotamian caravans passing through Nazareth. The Mesopotamians would
travel the quickest way south while also giving protection on the road. Traveling with foreigners wasn’t
settling well with Joseph, but he knew they would be traveling under heavy guard and therefore safe
from bandits and mountain lions. The next morning with everything packed on my father’s donkey,
including the birthing kit my mother had made especially for me, we said our good-byes and made our
way into the middle of the caravan and began our journey towards Bethlehem.
We descended the high Galilean hills, Mount Tabor rising in the east. After a bit of walking,
Joseph stopped the donkey and placed me on its back. The walking was tiring, but riding on the back of a
donkey when one is so full of child wasn’t easy either. I would not complain. This was a burden I must
bare and I didn’t want Joseph to worry. I was relieved when we stopped that first night. We ate some
bread my mother had packed and quickly fell asleep.
The next day it was as if God had wanted to lift my spirits for we crossed through the beautiful
plain of Jezreel with the incredible smells of green forests. That day of traveling through the forest
would carry me as over the next days we began the hard climb into the mountains. The Sabbath was
coming and I knew that Joseph was nervous about stopping, but it was more important to worship God.
The next day we caught up with the slower moving caravan as we passed by Mount Gilboa, where King
Saul and his son Jonathan had been slain by the Philistines. As we passed through Dothan, Joseph and I
talked about Jacob’s son Joseph being sold by his brothers and how Moses would hear from God
through the burning bush and lead the Israelites to safety.
As the days went on, I could feel Jesus moving inside of me. He was preparing to be born moving
down into the birthing canal. The contracts began slowly, but as we neared Bethlehem the pain was so
great that I could barely contain the screams inside of me. Joseph knew he must find us a place to stay
and soon. He knocked on many doors, doors of relatives even. At each door the same answer came--no
room. Finally, Joseph knocked on the door of an innkeeper who took the time to notice my predicament
before slamming the door. Quite frankly, how could anyone have missed for as he opened the door the
pain gripped me and I screamed out holding my swollen belly. He told Joseph he had no room in his
house, but that there were cave stables in the hills behind. We walked as quickly as we could. Joseph
entered the cave ahead of me with his lantern lit. He quickly found some clean hay and helped me to lie
down. I asked for my mother’s kit and then told Joseph to wait outside the cave entrance. He began to
argue with me, but I told him I would be fine and if I needed him I would call out.
I could see Joseph pacing just outside the entrance. I got the things mother had packed prepared
29
and placed the water Joseph had drawn for me by my side. Jesus came quickly then. Within a few
minutes Joseph could hear the strong cries of God’s son. I cleaned Jesus up and then myself. Once I had
Jesus quietly nestled at my breast I called to Joseph. Though this was God’s son, the love I saw in
Joseph’s eyes was overwhelming. Joseph crawled down next to us and we slumbered there peacefully.
I don’t know how long we slept there but awoke when we heard voices outside the cave. I quickly
wrapped Jesus and placed him in the manger that Joseph had supplied with fresh hey. Joseph sprang up
and went outside to see what the commotion was about and returned with shepherds. Many, many
shepherds came. They said an angel had told them about this miraculous birth of a Savior, Christ the
Lord. Then a whole choir of angels began to sing, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and
goodwill to all.” These many, many shepherds knelt down and worship the son of God. The radiance of
that cave must have glowed throughout the countryside. But why shepherds? In your day and age
shepherds would be equivalent to garbage collectors I think. They were unclean and hardly any of them
could or would worship on a regular basis. Why had God chosen such a lowly lot to be the first to
worship the newborn king?
As the shepherds left you could hear them shouting the news throughout the city. Who else
would come worship this child I had just bore? Would those who had stared and sneered at Joseph and I
come to worship the son they thought was ill got? Would the many innkeepers, our very own relatives
who had turned us away early come worship the King of Kings and Lord of Lords?
How about you? Will you find room in your heart for Jesus this Christmas? Will you come
worship the newborn king? Will you, like the shepherds in your excitement, go and tell the good news
for all to hear? Will the radiance of God’s light glow forth from this place so that all will know that Christ
the King is being worshipped here in every heart on this night of nights? Please don’t say there’s no
room for God’s son. For today in the city of David the Lord, our Savior, has been born. Won’t you
worship him with me?
What are you looking for?
John 20:1-18
From the voice of Mary Magdalene
“Mary” I remember the way he said my name that early morning by the tomb. “Mary” what a
sweet sound, I thought I’d never hear again. “Mary”
I am Mary of Magdala. There are many stories you have heard about me, but don’t believe them
all. Yes, I was the one who had seven devils cast out of me by the holy one, Jesus. And yes, I was one of
the women who followed Jesus and helped the disciples during his ministry. I am also the woman who
could wait no longer to be with my murdered king that Easter morning so long ago.
30
The Sabbath was technically over. I had laid awake in my bed until the very beginning rays of sun
light came in. I grabbed my head covering and a bag of burial spices and began the long walk to the
place we had placed him.
I knew that the guards would still be there. That’s why I didn’t worry about the large stone. But
when I arrived there were no guards and the stone was rolled aside.
I turn and ran to fetch Peter. I knew where the disciples had been hiding. I didn’t blame them.
Only the women could be with Jesus till the bitter end. It was almost a sure thing that the others would
have been arrested. No one took much notice of the weeping women, but the men who associated with
Jesus…now that was another thing entirely. So they hid, in the upper room where they had had the
Passover with Jesus just a few short days before.
The moment I told Peter that someone had taken
Jesus’ body he and the disciple Jesus loved, the only one
who dared to be at the foot of the cross with we women,
ran to see for themselves. I could barely keep up and
noticed that Peter fell behind as well. Yet, it was Peter
who entered the tomb first, without hesitation. Peter
was impulsive as ever. Then the other disciple entered.
When they came back out they had such looks of peace
on their face and left the garden. But I couldn’t leave. Not
until I knew where the body was.
How could they have peace? There was still no body to be found. I couldn’t help myself. I began
to cry uncontrollably. Finally, I bent down and looked into the tomb and saw two angels sitting where
Jesus’ head and feet should have been. They asked me why I was crying and I told them that the body of
my Lord had been stolen.
Then I turned around and saw a man. I thought he was the gardener and knew if I asked him
he’d know where they had taken the body.
He too asked why I was crying and who I was looking for. I knew this man would be able to tell
me where Jesus was and so I asked again if he’d carried Jesus away to tell me so that I could get him.
Then in the call of my name I heard music. “Mary” that’s all it took and I knew that this was no
mere man standing with me, but my Lord and Savior Jesus. This was the only man who had accepted me
as I was—a sinner in need of release. I had come to the tomb looking to remember what that
acceptance felt like. I had come to the tomb mourning not just the man, but the renewal of life I had
been given. Without Jesus would the other disciples would anyone respect me and see the new me that
Jesus saw even before my sins had been forgiven? I had come to the tomb looking for a body to mourn
and understanding that my life as I had experienced it in Jesus was over.
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What are you looking for? Are you seeking a man who was a great prophet and preacher…a
great healer and leader? Or are you like myself looking for a body to mourn so that we can get back to
our sorry lives of business as usual…knowing that our acceptance and forgiveness are a thing of the past
living without Jesus.
Do we go to the empty tombs of our lives where things are fuzzy and unclear to celebrate a
victorious resurrection? Or, is it our mission to verify the existence of dead bodies while we
wish for things the way they were or the way we wish they had been?
Well, let me tell you what I discovered that morning so long ago. I had come to the tomb looking
for a body to mourn and what I discovered was the Lord who wanted me to tell the others…to tell
you….HE IS RISEN!!! Jesus died yes, I watch him suffer on the cross, but on the third day he rose just like
he had told us he would. Through Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection we have the ability to be
transformed into the people only Jesus imagines us to be. Not the people of our past or present, but the
disciples that Jesus calls us to be, the disciples Jesus knows we are capable of being.
What are you looking for? He is not dead. Jesus is risen! Alleluia!
Photo taken by: Laura White
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I came to the Garden Alone
By: Deborah Caulk
She is sitting in her chair;
she has a dowager’s hump. her face is puffed and wrinkled, her hands are thin skinned and gnarled-
her laundry is being done in the latest machines. She is rebelling being bossed by children, doctors, and time:
so says, “I’m disgusted with me.”
As she talks, I know and recall- Her sheets and diapers were always white, she often hauled or carried water from a well or from a spring, she often primed a pump while her breathe was freezing mid-air and her hands were sticking to metal, she boiled water and some clothes, too, shaved old yellow soap and sometimes used lye and scrubbed them on a board- leaving knuckles raw and bleeding; those clothes that froze on the line did eventually dry after all. And she says, “Once I did my laundry with ease. I would like to hang my sheets on a line- See them glistening in the sun And billowing in the breeze.”
With Ease
(First Published in “The Dream Shop” 1992 Verse Writer’s Guild of Ohio)
By: Betty Dodge Bennington
Friend of MTSO, Member of Denmark UMC
Conflict Managed, Conflict Transformed
By: Deborah Caulk
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La Patita Fea By: Racquel F. Welch
Friend of MTSO, Daughter of Grace Welch
Arizona State University, Tempe Arizona
I’ll admit, Your words cut like a knife going across my wrist.
Tortured and tormented my pride, Even though I refused to let you win.
You may have sent me home with watery eyes, But I wouldn’t let you get the satisfaction of
seeing me cry. Your words my have temporarily bounded to my
physical sight, Made me hate everything I saw,
When I looked in the mirror at night. You may have made me believe I was ugly and
not made right. That the pimples on my skin were too blotchy and
red, That my teeth were over-sized,
And I had a big head. That my body was almost perfect…
If it didn’t have my face. That my hair was never done or hot combed
straight. Your words may have hurt me, But I eventually found my way.
My acne scars are present, My teeth are still big,
My head may not fit my body, But I found beauty in it.
My imperfections are flawless because there is
only one me, I was then,
And still am, Made how I was supposed to be.
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It can be tempting to return to the
comfort of our old skin By: Grace S. Welch
MA in Counseling Ministries ’14
First published in Campus View, February 2013
God wants to authenticate us – provide us with
new skin. The process of shedding your old skin
is painful, however. Your new skin can feel too
large, too tight, too short or just plain
uncomfortable. That can send you searching for
your old skin.
I am in my third year and internship phase of
the MACM program (the Pastoral and
Professional Counseling Track). I know all about
the pain of purging old skin.
Before coming to MTSO, I transitioned from a
successful 23-year career in human resources
for which I was passionate. I enjoyed my home,
a comfortable living, great weather, a network
of friends and contacts, and my church.
Here in Ohio, I found myself working in MTSO’s
buildings and grounds department, living on
campus, enduring the ups and downs of student
life, and raising a son by myself, 1,400 miles
from my family back in Arizona.
A year ago, my old skin came searching for me
in the form of an assistant chief of staff
opportunity, with significant pay and travel, a
chance to work with a former business partner,
and the prospect of returning home to Arizona.
I was conflicted.
I prayed, spoke to my pastor and advisor, and
tested the idea out with my Theories I class. I
even accepted the invitation to interview and
tour the facility, where a familiar sense of
comfort washed over me. I was able to quickly
assess departmental waste, process duplication,
“Learning to let go of the comfortable and
familiar – and surrendering to new and
unexplored areas – is a large part of the
authentication process.”
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excessive overhead and spending. My old skin
had not failed me.
Only this time, I saw my skin differently. This
corporate opportunity was no different than I
was used to, but I realized I had changed.
Learning to let go of the comfortable and
familiar – and surrendering to new and
unexplored areas – is a large part of the
authentication process.
I was offered the position and a chance to
return home to loved ones. In those
deliberating hours, I wrestled with my new and
old skin and was reminded of the parable from
the gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke. We all
know what happens when new wine is put into
old wineskins. The skin will be destroyed. But
when new wine is poured into a fresh wineskin,
both are preserved.
Needless to say, I did not take that job. Staying
here at MTSO, pressing toward the calling, has
not only preserved me, but it has shown me
how to recognize the surrendering time. It has
tested me and placed in me the courage to
submit and the power to confront the
unknown.
Those things were useful as I searched for a
practicum intern site. I thought I could not work
with alcohol and other substances or with
troubled youths. I was hoping to intern in a
facility where I could practice my pastoral care
skills. Yet I was led to an addictions treatment
and recovery facility.
Reluctant and hesitant at first, I pulled on the
new skin. After the first couple of weeks, I was
uneasy. This new skin felt like burlap. As I
learned the operations, worked with staff and
built therapeutic relationships my comfort level
steadily increased. By the time my practicum
ended, I had a newfound desire to work with
this population. Had I tried to shed my new skin
too soon, I clearly would have missed the
chance to feel how well it could fit me.
Recently I had yet another chance to try on new
skin, spending an internship working with
adolescents, providing trauma informed care in
a residential, shelter and acute-care setting.
“This new skin felt like burlap.”
“Resisting authentication – your new
skin – is refusing a precious gift
intended especially for you to
accomplish the work you are called to
do.”
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I am doing everything I thought I would never
do. Why should I be surprised? The Lord
declared in Jeremiah 29:11, “For I know the
plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and
not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a
future.” Resisting authentication – your new
skin – is refusing a precious gift intended
especially for you to accomplish the work you
are called to do. My sisters and brothers,
though the old and familiar lurks and calls to
you, I encourage you to press on toward new
goals in your new skin.
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Real Men
Support
Women’s Rights!
Clergy Spouses Unite By: Ray White
Friend of MTSO, Spouse of
Laura White
I have to admit I borrowed
the title for this article from a
facebook group which I began following several
months ago. The group was designed as a place where clergy
spouses can ask for prayer, post on events, share concerns and ask for
wisdom from people who have been through the same situations.
I must confess though that I have not felt comfortable to post
or respond to any of the comments. Comments on this page usually begin with statements such as,
“Okay girls, I have problem…” or “Alright ladies…”. I would like to respond by saying that I am not a
girl or woman but I have something valuable to contribute. I would like to say, “I have been through
this or yes, I would like to pray for you” but I have not had the strength to respond.
To be honest, it is probably the first time in which I have experienced this sort of thing. I have
always acknowledged the reality of my white male privilege but I was never fully aware of what that
meant. I am not naïve enough to think that this small amount of feeling like the “other” lets me know
what it feels like to be oppressed or marginalized but it has allowed me to more fully be aware of the
privileges which have been offered to me simply because I was born white and male in the U.S.A.
Over the past several years I have seen my wife struggle with the
stereotypes and prejudices that come with being a clergy woman in rural Ohio. I have watched Laura
with God’s help and her unending determination continue to overcome each obstacle. She continues
to do what God has called her to do, which is to bring God’s word and love to a broken world even
when that world does not always acknowledge her right to do so.
My hope is that God will grant me the strength that she has shown. I want to have the strength
to stand up for change; change in the way in which the world and the church view women, men, race
and sexual orientation.
I pray to be more patient when I am introduced as the “pastor’s wife”, or invited to a clergy
spouse tea and bake sale. I am, also, more determined than ever to use my white male privilege to
give voice to those who have no voice and to stand for equality for all of God’s children.
"Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other
time. We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek."
Barack Obama
The View from the “Other” Side
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